


O my heart (it ain’t quite dead)

by tanyart



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Enemies With Benefits, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 11:31:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17745140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Drifter learns a new thing about Shin Malphur and then runs into some trouble that has nothing to do with Shin Malphur. The real trouble starts when Shin decides to make it his business anyway.





	O my heart (it ain’t quite dead)

**Author's Note:**

> Some self-indulgent nonsense where I put in as many tropes as I can fit with wild abandon. Thank you Parisa for the beta read and also for my life.

It all started when Drifter saw Shin in a moment where he should’ve never seen him. _Ever._

There was a lot of foot traffic at the Lower District Bazaar. Nothing weird about that. The crowd was busy enough that he walked through mostly unbothered, another helmet head in a sea of unknown faces. Drifter wasn’t even doing anything in particular, just wanted a break from his little corner alley. It got boring as fuck in there sometimes, and the slow days made Drifter ansty. The cure? A quick walk away from the Tower usually did the trick for his restless legs and crawling nerves.

And while the bazaar wasn’t the last place he expected to see Shin Malphur, it was still pretty far down the list that the sight of him made Drifter stop in his tracks. He stared, almost for a second too long. Thankfully, all the bright hanging curtains and stalls kept him relatively obscured, and it’d be easy to duck out of view any time.

Shin hadn’t seen him yet, but he was with other people — a sharp-eyed gal and a bigger fella that was probably an off-the-clock Titan. In fact, Drifter would bet his bullets the whole lot of them were Guardians, despite not wearing any of the iconic class ornaments. Didn’t take a genius to deduce that; the easy way they carried themselves was a dead giveaway, as if a little bubble of Light surrounded them, unseen power making even the thickest bustle of people step around them unconsciously.

(Drifter didn’t recognize the other two. But he got the feeling their Light wasn’t anything to scoff at. Shin didn’t seem like the type to surround himself with people whose Light was faded and dimmed.)

Shin himself was dressed as casually as Drifter had ever seen him. Jacket, dark slacks, and boots. Nothing fancy, but nothing runned down to scuff. Looked a little too normal for Drifter’s liking. If he hadn’t known Shin’s face, he would’ve passed him by without a second thought. The thought made Drifter’s skin crawl.

Shin and his two buddies seemed like they were loitering around, chatting and occasionally glancing up like they were waiting for something. Or someone. Drifter felt a familiar spike of paranoia and stepped back, pretended to take an interest at the off-planet fruits the stall in front of him was selling.

It’d be crazy if Shin was planning an ambush here. Wouldn’t make sense. He wasn’t dressed for it. Didn’t have a gun in easy reach either. Drifter could just take out a fusion rifle and take his sweet time shooting him through the stalls from his spot. _He_ was the one with the advantage here.

The Titan guy nudged Shin, joking about something, and Shin had a wry smile on his face that Drifter was sometimes witness to. But Shin looked relaxed, preoccupied by his current company, but happily so. Drifter couldn’t hear the way Shin laughed from where he was standing, but he figured it was kind of quiet laugh, not meant to be heard.

Without realizing it, Drifter had bought three incredibly overpriced Venus apricots from their snake of a vendor. He stared down at his newly acquired plastic bag, which read “ _Thank you!”_ in six different languages, including Eliksni. Drifter scowled and moved on, a little disgusted. Could’ve snagged those same apricots off Venus himself.

 _Still_ , Drifter mused as he bit into an apricot, it was weird thinking the legendary Shin Malphur took some days off like that. Or maybe Shin had really taken retirement to heart. Hell, Drifter was more surprised the bastard even had friends to hang out with.

As Drifter continued to linger, a Hunter was coming his way down the street, weaving in and out of the crowd. Drifter discreetly stepped aside, didn’t say a thing when her billowing cloak brushed against his arm. The Hunter had a collection of knives on her, and Drifter could feel the restless Arc static buzzing in the air, busy as a bee.

To his surprise, she had been heading towards Shin’s group, waving enthusiastically. Drifter didn’t worry much about Shin looking past her shoulder to see him, if he did. Just in case, Drifter passed his glance over them, like any stranger would over a small commotion.

Yeah, Drifter didn’t have to worry at all. All of Shin’s attention was on the Hunter as he darted forward to pull her into a quick hug. The peck at the side of her helmet was almost an afterthought, given with all the ease of seeing an old friend.

Drifter stopped chewing, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Like maybe he was having some realizations he shouldn’t be having.

The Hunter received the same treatment from the Titan, a hug and a kiss, and then a little more from the other lady, ass patting seemed like a bonus — ah, _those_ two were probably the ones fucking. And Shin was laughing at something again, and this time the sound carried, however faintly.

Drifter finally tore his gaze away and started walking back to his alley. He didn’t need to see any more of that.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t occur to Drifter that he was _bothered_ by the whole thing until Shin appeared a couple of days later, and Drifter’s eyes landed right at his mouth instead of his ass or, you know, where Shin kept his weapons.

When Drifter went in for a rough kiss, he knew clear as day it was a just prelude to fucking. He became dead set on it, actually, and it was easy. Shin followed through, going down to his knees with a hungry look in his eye that as almost as satisfying as the hands working off Drifter’s belts.

Afterwards, Drifter got to hauling Shin back up to his feet, the both of them finally cooled off enough to move. Shin was doing his pants back up when Drifter was struck by the sudden impulse to press his mouth over Shin’s still-wet lips, kinda like a man suddenly possessed by stupidity, but Drifter didn’t want to think on that.

Shin didn’t seem to mind. Took that to meaning Drifter wanted another round and, really, that was more than fine by him.

 

* * *

 

It should’ve been the end of that, but Shin came around his worktable one night and kissed the side of Drifter’s head. Out of the blue, just like that. Time froze in Drifter’s mind, with Shin’s warm mouth at his temple, touching nowhere else but that point.

Drifter had the sudden image of Shin and his Hunter friend — the hug, the casual kiss. He blinked, confused for a moment why Shin was being friendly with him. And then before suspicion could rear its head, Shin’s arm snaked around his waist, hand coming down to his ass, drawing him in. Alright. Not so friendly then. Drifter relaxed but still felt the stirrings of embarrassment beneath his skin, much to his irritation.

Fuck that noise. He turned and bit Shin’s lip, shoved his tongue between Shin’s teeth, and angrily got to it.

They fucked. It was good.

Shin collapsed next to him, breathless and looking like the best kind of wreck. Drifter smirked, wolfishly blatant about it, enjoying the smug satisfaction of putting the Man with the Golden Gun down on his back.

Shin glanced at him, caught him looking, and scowled. And then Drifter’s _shit-for-brains_ reaction was to lean over, muzzily calculating, maybe — the top of Shin’s head, or the side of his face —

Shin let him. That was the thing. Let Drifter plant one on his cheek, all casual like he’d seen Shin do, back at the bazaar a week ago.

And he’d sooner shoot himself in the head than call it jealousy — especially when he could get Shin completely naked and under him in less than a minute if he wanted — but when Shin only got up from bed, snorting, _“don’t got time for another round”,_ it left Drifter feeling like a complete fool twice over, burned a second time.

He wasn’t asking for another round. A kiss didn’t mean an automatic fuck, like some kinda demand — well, it did, before, but — _oh, shit_.

Shin was long gone by the time Drifter dragged an aggravated hand down his face.

 

* * *

 

A small hole had torn itself in Drifter’s Ascendant Closet. Fixing the tear was just a matter of getting the right needle and thread, no biggie, and Drifter had the hole patched up in no time.

The real problem came when Drifter discovered something _big_ had wandered into his little pocket of Ascendant realm. It was making a mess of his stuff, setting loose a couple of Taken in places where they sure as hell shouldn’t be in, and the whole place got _Dark_ pretty quick.

Wrangling the small fry would have to wait. With the hole closed shut, Drifter didn’t have to worry about them escaping outside. He set out to hunting down the big ol’ shithead causing the ruckus.

It didn't take long. Drifter’s realm wasn’t so far reached. The big ol’ shithead turned out to be a massive Ogre with one of them Hive names Drifter didn’t bother trying to pronounce. It was huge though, and getting bigger by the second, absorbing the Darkness around it.

At this rate, it’d be Taken soon enough. Drifter wondered if he should let it turn, make it a Primeval. It was a _real_ good idea. Easier than dragging in an Ogre from the outside. No shipping costs and all that.

Drifter was halfway to setting up a chair to watch it happen when the Ogre reached a clawed hand into the air and yanked another portal open in Drifter’s space. The rip in reality tore, easy as tissue paper. And then the Ogre reached out again and tore open another hole.

Darkness flowed in like a flood, and there was already plenty enough Darkness in Drifter’s realm.

“Hey!” Drifter shouted, jumping up the moment he felt his Light start to stifle. “Stop that!”

‘Course, the Ogre was as brainless as they came. Drifter wondered if anyone had _deliberately_ sent the Hive monster his way, or if it was just dumb luck it wandered in. Another thing to investigate for later. Drifter put his cannon up and emptied it into the Ogre from where he stood. The Ogre ignored him, so Drifter kept on shooting.

There were _four_ jagged portals by the time Drifter got the Ogre’s full attention on him. Drifter never did have a proper home in all his lives, but this probably felt a whole lot like trying to stop some punch-happy Titan drunkard at a house party. How an Ogre ended up with the power to open portals, Drifter didn’t have a fucking clue. He was too irritated to think give it some serious thought.

After a few more minutes of shooting the thing, Drifter got _mad_. Well, more than mad, with his low ammunition and Light slowing down to a trickle. The Ogre was looking more and more like a beaten lump of Hive pulp, and Drifter was thinking about maybe hopping through one of the portals just to take a smoke break or something. The fight was _tedious_.

Fuckin’ stupid, _stupid_ thought.

Drifter stood over the Ogre’s corpse, just blastin’ his gun into its flesh in annoyance.

“Piece of shit, wrecking my _house_. Look at this mess.” He gestured to the holes of reality peppering his realm. Looked like swiss cheese. So did the Ogre.

Usually, with the Hive, the bodies just disintegrated back to smaller worms. When none of that happened, Drifter paused. From beneath his feet, beneath the corpse, he felt the Ascendant Plane rumble, cold Taken energy seeping outwards.

The Ogre had opened one last portal under it. One last poke into Drifter’s dwindling bubble of Light, and then he felt his entire realm slip into true Darkness. An unbearable cold washed over Drifter and it was hard to say if the irretractable chill seizing his chest was from the Darkness, or fear.

The edges of the corpse started to darken, flesh warping into the absence of space, the absence of color, of everything, save for the faint twinkle of fading stars.

“Ugh,” Drifter groaned. He took out his rocket launcher and opened a neurolink straight to Ghost; _You know the drill. Don’t come out for nothin’._ And then he blocked it off completely, snapped the thread of Light off himself.

Being severed from his Ghost was never a great feeling, but Drifter had been through worse. He’d _felt_ worse, and powerless to boot. This was nothing.

 

* * *

 

A couple of rockets, three bone dry guns, and about ten laps around the Realm later, Drifter had to reevaluate his definition of _nothing._

Okay, it was getting to be a whole lot of _somethin’_ when the Taken Ogre got a freezing grasp around Drifter’s leg and lifted him upside down, shaking him like a rag doll. Drifter felt his entire brain rattle around his skull, vision blurring, and he felt his grip on Trust start to slip.

Trust was a sturdy gun. He had saved it for last, after all his rifles and launchers and other cannons. When Drifter tried to tighten his hold, the Ogre shook him again, and Drifter, more out of spite than anything, flung the damned gun at the Ogre’s head.

It bounced off its eye. As far as Drifter knew, Hive didn’t have much for eyelids — much less a Taken one — so the Ogre didn’t blink in surprise. It did, however, hold Drifter up higher and started to roar the shit out of itself. Drifter swore his eardrums blew out in seconds, and he nearly threw up, staring back into that ugly maw. Or maybe he was nauseated from being flung around. Who knew at this point. Drifter’s head felt scrambled enough as it was.

The fucker was still howling at him, nothing but rage and hunger and pain. Drifter blinked, slow, and shoved a grenade in its mouth.

“Damn, will you _shut up_.”

The Ogre stopped roaring. Looked at him like a cat whose tongue was got. Drifter almost laughed. Fuck, _that’ll_ be a story to tell eventually.

The Ogre chomped down on his arm. Drifter expected it, knew the pain was going to hit him in a couple of seconds, and gathered up the very last bits of his Light he’d been saving.

Thing was — Guardians were so fuckin’ simple minded. Divided themselves in neat little categories with neat little super powers. Drifter had long abandoned the idea of the Golden Guns, the Daybreaks, the Sol Flares. Those were only _weapons,_ tools to channel that Light.

Because, at the end of the day, what all Lightbearers had was raw cosmic energy. Drifter didn’t need sunlit guns or dawning swords or fiery hammers. He already had all he needed, right there in his hands.

Never did figure out while he always defaulted back to Solar though. He had taught himself how to handle Void and Arc energies, but when push came to shove it was always back to the sun with him.

Solar energy flooded into the Ogre’s mouth from Drifter’s arm. Light leaked out from between its teeth, and Drifter felt his bones of his hand break, his muscles tearing as the Ogre’s tried to pull him back, but it was too late. Distantly, Drifter felt the impact of the grenade exploding inside the Ogre before he doubled his efforts on shoving his Light down the Ogre’s throat.

Felt like the sun was in his palm, or what was going to be left of it. Drifter took comfort in the blistering heat, willing the temperature to rise higher and higher. More Light, more fire and absolute desperate _fury_.

Drifter’s vision went white for a moment. The Ogre had stopped moving, stopped _existing_ for all of a quiet moment. Drifter sensed its _not_ -life disintegrate in a rush, like a candle blown out to wisps of smoke. Before he could even entertain the inkling of relief, he felt his right shoulder dislocate something _awful_ , and then he realized it was more than that; his arm had been ripped clean off.

Drifter felt the impact of hitting the ground before he realized he’d been falling. The hurt was a lot less worse than his arm — or, well, where the arm ought to be — and his leg didn’t feel too hot either. He sat up, dizzied, and struggled for the knife at his boot.

He tried not to feel too pathetic pulling it out. His vision swam and he couldn’t get it to focus, but he knew the smaller Taken were still out there. The small fries. Should’ve cleared them out after all. He clenched his jaw as a Taken Knight ran its way towards him, too fast for Drifter’s eyes to track, which was _not_ a good sign. He pulled up another flicker of Solar energy, sharpened it into the blade, and threw.

Either his aim was off, or Drifter really did see the Knight catch it with a hand that looked way too human.

The Knight knelt down beside him, and after blinking several times in disbelief, he saw that it was Shin. Drifter could’ve choked.

“The hell’re you doing here?” he snapped, trying to scoot away, and became conscious of the blood pooling around him. No Ghost, no gun, one arm, and now no knife. Panic bubbled in the pit of his stomach and he honestly didn’t think he still had the energy to feel anymore, but here he was.

“You’re dying.” There was a gun in Shin’s hand.

“Yeah, no shit,” Drifter agreed nastily. He tried to summon more Light, more Solar energy, _anything_. His thoughts were scattering wild, and out of sheer desperation to keep his head on, Drifter forced a flicker of Solar energy in his palm and clapped it over his open wound. He concentrated, but it was like trying to strike a match in the rain. The last of his Light had gone to the Ogre, the knife he’d thrown — but he _had_ to stop the bleeding, cauterize it close like he’d done a million times before, just the one _fuckin’_ thing. Then he’d deal with Shin. “Fuck!”

Shin grabbed his good arm. “Where’s your Ghost?”

Drifter hissed. “Ain’t telling you _shit_.”

Shin went still. Drifter couldn’t see his expression behind the helmet. Shin had came after him dressed in his Renegade armor, like he wanted to rub salt in Drifter’s already bleeding wound.

“Your Ghost still around?” Shin persisted.

“The hell you want to know?” Drifter gritted his teeth, mustered enough strength to yank free from Shin’s grip, but he swayed bad enough that Shin’s hand came right back up to steady him. “I ain’t letting you shoot ‘em —”

“Shoot—? Fuck you, why aren’t they here fixin’ you up?” But Shin drew back, apparently giving up trying to get anything out of Drifter. His gaze went to Drifter’s torn arm. “Forget it. What’re you trying to do? Cauterize it?” His very being flared up with Solar energy, bright like a beacon, hot like fire.

Drifter tried not to lean in, like a moth to flame, though it wasn’t very hard to flinch back either. It prompted another shaky motion — another touch at his back from Shin, one hand propping him up, the other burning near his dripping wound. Was Shin gonna finish him off or help him? He was confused. By everything. And he got the feeling things weren’t going to get any clearer if he continued to lose more and more blood.

“Gotta close it,” Drifter said, almost nonsensically, and he hoped that really wasn’t how his voice sounded, all faint and thready.

Shin shifted closer. “Alright,” he said and raised his Solar-lit hand.

Drifter grabbed it by the wrist, warning him for whatever it was worth. He didn’t let go, even when Shin pressed his scorching palm to Drifter’s wound and kept it there while Drifter’s entire world tilted and flipped and shuddered.

He must have blacked out for five seconds, ten, at most. When he came to, Drifter was no longer on the ground. Wasn’t floating either. But he was moving. He opened his eyes, whirly birds still going ‘round his head, and shut them again, taking in a shaky breath, the scent of charred meat in the air.

“Smells good. What’s cooking?” he asked, slurred.

“That’ll be you.”

Shin’s voice was unnervingly close to his ear. Drifter’s single arm tightened around Shin, just about the same time he noticed that he _did_ have an arm around Shin, as well as his legs around Shin’s waist.

Shin Malphur was giving him a piggyback ride across his own Ascendant Realm.

Drifter turned his head to the side to throw up. ‘Course, there wasn’t anything in his stomach, not even bile, so at most Drifter only dry heaved as Shin jumped from rock to rock.

Great. Perfect. Couldn’t even manage to be sick all over Shin Malphur.

“You alright?”

Drifter got a hold of himself, stomach churning, but only to let out a derisive laugh. Shin let him, which was somehow the most insulting thing he had ever done to Drifter.

“Done?” he asked when Drifter quieted down. Didn’t take long, considering how shitty Drifter felt. His voice was flat. “Keep talking. What’s so funny?”

It was like Drifter was suffocating. It reminded him of his time on that frozen hellhole beyond the system, surviving on the thinnest trickle of Light only to die anyway by the end of the day. Shin was warm though, even through the armor. Cloak felt soft against Drifter’s cheek.

Then it wasn’t soft at all, when Shin jostled him on purpose. Drifter’s attention snapped forward back to consciousness, and he croaked, bit the inside of his cheek ‘cause it startled him so bad.

“Stay awake.” Shin turned, gunshots ringing out as he took down the leftover Taken in the way. “You’re laughing again. What’s wrong?”

Oh, Drifter had a whole laundry list of what was _wrong_. He could’ve picked anything from a hundred different things; he hurt all over, he wanted very badly to pass out, his Ghost wasn’t going to be around, he was getting a piggyback ride from the monster of his nightmares, and worst of all, he couldn’t keep his thoughts together, all fucked up like this. _What’s wrong?_ He was lightheaded and couldn’t for the life of him _think_ straight, and maybe — _maybe_ , because of all that, Drifter said the first fool thing that came to his mind.

“How come we don’t ever kiss?” he blurted, and then groaned when his head smacked against Shin’s helmet as they came to a halt.

There was a painfully long pause while Shin reloaded his gun. Drifter thought he blacked out again until Shin shot at a Taken Hobgoblin before answering.

“We kiss plenty.”

Drifter’s head pounded, his brain probably screaming at him to shut the hell up. “Only when we’re fucking. Or want to fuck.”

There was another drawn out pause, though it could be Shin was busy shooting down Taken. “Oh.”

Was that Shin sounding uncomfortable? Good. Drifter had been feeling the same thing for _weeks_ now. Even in the growing delirium of his mind, he thought revenge was decidedly very sweet. “Just wonderin’ how it might be, kissing you when we’re not fucking,” he continued, wanting to be belligerent. It came out as a groggy mumble instead, horrifically forlorn, even to his own ears.

“Alright.”

Shin sounded like he was starting to regret keeping Drifter awake. They lapsed into silence. Occasionally Shin would prod him and Drifter would have to say some inane comment to prove that he was still kicking it.

“Gimmie a gun,” he said, after a particular hard jolt from Shin. Asshole.

“Why?”

“Sick of talkin’. Wanna shoot.”

After some careful maneuvering, Shin silently handed him a sidearm. It was just about the saddest thing, having the very man you wanted dead for so long give you a gun like that. Drifter _knew_ he wasn't going to take the opportunity to blow Shin's brains out, but it still stung.

His stump of an arm was hurting pretty bad, but his other one worked fine. It took a moment to figure out how to keep on Shin’s back with just his legs, but soon Drifter had his sights lined at the closest Taken Psion. He pulled the trigger — first shot went wide, but he corrected his aim and had the Psion dead with three more bullets. Shin took care of the ones further away.

Drifter wasn’t going to be making any pretty headshots, but firing at the Psions helped take his mind off the fact he was riding away on top of the Traveler’s most vengeful Hunter. Did pretty well for himself, if anyone were to ask.

Time passed in vague fragments. Drifter didn’t know how long it took for them to escape or what portal Shin was heading towards. Eventually, Shin made one last jump and Drifter’s vision turned bright, all sorts of colors assaulting his eyes.

They were out of the Ascendant Plane. Drifter let the sidearm drop from his hand. Shin dumped him to the ground.

Drifter landed in soft grass with a groan, but the thin air around them stank of sulfur. They were probably on Io. He blinked, sunlight hurting.

Shin loomed over him, his shadow falling across his face. His helmet was gone. Drifter didn’t know when he had taken it off, but Shin’s expression was as unhappy as ever — sweat at his forehead making his hair curl and eyes brighter than the sun. Drifter shut his eyes. Shin’s lips had been drawn into a thin line like he had many things to say and didn’t know where to begin.

“Ooh, I fucked up,” Drifter said, miserable.

“Yeah, no kiddin’.”

Light was slowly coming back to him now that he was out of the Ascendant Realm. He still felt like death warmed over and knew he was going to feel that way for some time. There wasn’t anything he could do about it until he met up with his Ghost.

Shin must have seen his glazed look and finally took pity on him. He knelt down, head tilting. “Alright. You can go faint now.”

Figured Shin wouldn't even do him the mercy of putting him out, but Drifter sighed, too exhausted to do anything but take Shin's advice, and passed the fuck out.

 

* * *

 

Drifter woke up on Shin’s ship. How did he know it was Shin’s ship? He didn’t. He just jolted awake like he’d been shocked out of it, with straps across his chest holding him down, the window next to him showing deep space, and _everything_ about the small space just _screamed_ Shin Malphur. The organized walls, the numerous Tex Mechanica cases, the scent of gunsmoke and ash, the faint country EDM playing from the cockpit — Drifter just about lost all his damned marbles right then and there.

Shin came out from the cockpit, looking like he’d been expecting some kind of freak out. Drifter hadn’t _yelled_ or anything like that, but having one arm was giving him a heck of a time trying to undo the harness — that’s right, the straps were only seatbelts, _not_ shackles to keep him prisoner. After some more rattling around, Drifter pressed the release and freed himself.

He stayed put though, warily looking at Shin.

“Where’re you taking me?”

“Dunno. You tell me.” At Drifter’s blank stare, Shin stuck his hands in his pockets. _Pockets_. He was wearing sweatpants. Didn’t even give Drifter the dignity of wearing armor around him anymore. “I tried to get you back to the Derelict but…” Shin shrugged. “Wasn’t able to. Locked out.”

Good to know his security systems were up to snuff. Drifter needed to get back to his Ghost ASAP. Thankfully, he wasn’t as worried as he could’ve been, knowing all their contingency plans, none of which Shin was going to be privy to. All he needed was to get to one of his safe houses and send up an encrypted beacon. Ghost’ll find him. As soon as Drifter got himself off Shin’s ship.

Shin was still looking at him. Drifter felt like yelling, wished for another Taken Ogre to rip a portal into the Ascendant Realm so he could jump right in and disappear. What he wouldn’t do for another concussion to forget the past few hours.

“We still near Io? Venus, then,” Drifter said, churlish, but knowing that Shin’ll do it. “Ishtar Sink.”

He was right; Shin went back into the cockpit to punch in the coordinates. Finally left Drifter alone for a few moments.

But the more he sat there, the more he noticed that Shin had patched him up as best he could. It was impressively done for a Guardian — no slapdash bandaging there, especially around the arm — though Shin had been mortal before. Drifter cautiously tested his amputated arm, gauging the range of motion. Hurt like fire moving it around, but the pain was on par with everything else in his broken body. There was dried blood flaking from his clothes and skin, and even Shin didn't want to go any further than that.

Drifter eyed the ship’s interior. It seemed like he was in some kinda passenger and cargo hold. He leaned forward, patting the underside of his seat. Sure enough, there was an emergency pistol hidden behind a panel. Hunters were all the same, really.

Drifter checked the magazine and found only a single bullet. _Well._ It was basically a peashooter, but that was better than nothing. He slipped the pistol behind his belt, right as Shin came back.

They stared at each other. Drifter readjusted his belt, the grip of the pistol disappearing out of sight. Shin sure as hell saw everything, but he only stepped closer, the rumbling of his ship speeding up.

“You wanna fuck?” he asked.

Drifter wondered if he should save that peashooter bullet or risk putting it between Shin’s eyes for that question. “Are you nuts? No. I feel like shit.”

“Good.” Before Drifter could fire back an insult, Shin sat himself down on his knees in front of him. He looked up at Drifter, seemed to wait on something, but was met with silence. He cleared his throat. “You were wonderin’... what it was like, kissing...” and Shin trailed off, like he was also embarrassed and couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence.

Drifter would’ve given anything to have a Taken Ogre drag him back into the Ascendant Realm. If Shin was embarrassed, Drifter was _humiliated_. It was a small blessing he no longer had enough blood sloshing inside him to turn red.

The silence stretched. For a guy who was quick tempered and quicker on the trigger, Shin proved he could be damned patient when it was the least convenient. Still, Drifter held his peace, banking on that Ogre. His breathing was even, but his heart thudded painfully against his chest.

Shin blinked, expression turning wry.

“... Guess not,” he said. His words were clipped. “Maybe you don’t remember.” He made a move to stand.

Drifter grabbed his sleeve, stopping him, but the sudden movement on his part got him woozy. “Hold up,” he said, swallowing back nausea. Instead, he leaned forward, tugged on that sleeve, and got Shin settled back down.

Shin looked solemn as the grave, but his face tilted up like he knew what was coming. Cocky bastard.

Drifter bent his head. With the agonized feeling of knowing he's already gonna want to do it again, he pressed a dry kiss to Shin’s cheekbone, just below his eye. He pulled away.

Shin looked at him, stunned. “That all?” But he didn’t laugh.

Drifter slumped back. “Yeah. That’s all.” He had enough, and he was tired. Wanted nothing more than to crawl back to the Derelict and sleep for a decade. After he got his Ghost back. He looked out the window, seeing Venus’ surface come into view. “You gonna let me leave or what?”

Shin stood up, the ship’s engines shuttering off as they reached their destination. When he turned to look into the cockpit, there was a growing flush at the nape of his neck. “Alright. Go on. Transmat’s all ready.”

Drifter gratefully transmatted off without another word.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until a full week later Shin appeared outside Drifter’s dark alleyway. Drifter had closed shop for the night, chatting nonsense with his Ghost, when the gate rattled.

He turned to look, his Ghost flitting out of sight, but Shin had saw the telltale transmat sparkle.

“Your Ghost’s alive,” Shin said, surprised, then rearranged his expression into something less relieved and more neutral.

Oh. So he thought Drifter had lost his Ghost. Well. That did explain a few things, now that Drifter had a few days to recover — which was mostly using that peashooter pistol on himself and getting Ghost to bring him back whole and well again.

Didn’t make a lick of sense, what went on in Shin’s mind, especially when Shin slammed the gate behind him and nearly bowled Drifter over, kissing him fiercely. It didn’t take a whole lot of guesswork to figure what was coming next though. Drifter shoved Shin until they both fell into the mattress. Some of that leftover embarrassment still burned in Drifter — _how dare Shin do all this to him_ — and Drifter kissed him with the same amount of anger, growling into his mouth.

They fucked with that familiar frustration, biting and leaving bruises on each other like nothing had happened. Honestly, Drifter was more than glad to have Shin forget the whole fuck up in the Ascendant Realm. This was still good, having him bear down on top of Drifter, teeth bared and hands gripping too hard at his shoulders, and then at his throat.

Afterwards, though, when they were both laid out on the bed, catching their breath and letting the sweat dry off, Shin rolled over, looking way too open for Drifter’s comfort. He shifted closer, and left a lingering kiss over Drifter’s mouth that didn’t go any further than that. Neither of them let it.

“That count?” Shin asked, curious.

Drifter knew what Shin meant. Still annoyed him to no end though. What, they were gonna start drawing up rules and definitions now? Did post-fuck kisses count? _Really?_ He rolled his eyes. “No.”

Shin didn’t seem bothered.

“Alright,” he said, as if that gave himself enough excuse to plant another kiss at Drifter’s temple before he got up to go. “Guess we’ll try again later.”

Drifter watched him go, feeling a little funny for it, but he remarked, with no small amount of irony, “Guess we will.”

 


End file.
